Where's Your Handprint Sammy?
by Amy-the-mystery-writer
Summary: When Sam wakes up in a field, all he has as a hint to what pulled him out of hell is a handprint seared onto his hip. Currently a one shot, may add more stories to this verse


___Because we all know that when Gabriel marks Sam, the handprint is on his hip._

___This ignores all of season 6 by the way._

* * *

The first thing Sam noticed was the burn on his hip. That was after he woke up and remembered what it was like to move. To breath. To feel the sunlight on his skin. To hear the birds, feel the grass beneath his fingers. To be whole once more.

After all that, he noticed the burn. The hot feeling on his left hipbone that seared beyond his flesh, into his bone. Not a painful burn, but a comforting one. Like someone you love who held on for too long. Like concentrated sunlight.

He knew he was alive. He knew he was brought back. That someone reached into the pit and yanked him out. Naked. Whatever angel did this certainly had a sense of humor. Almost scared to look, but curiosity winning out, Sam looked.

It was a handprint. Naturally. Smaller than the one Dean had, and curled softly around his hip. Almost instantly he felt comfortable, he felt peace and serenity. He felt an overwhelming amount of love.

So he prayed to Castiel. If anyone knew who pulled him out, it would be him.

The angel was ruffled, tense, worn down, but he smiled at the sight of Sam.

"Sam," Castiel breathed, "You're alive."

"Yeah, um, I am," Sam nodded, "Can you zap me over to Dean? Something pulled me out and… I don't think it was you."

"It wasn't me," Castiel agreed, "But what makes you so sure."

Sam gestured to the mark on his hip, "You're hands are bigger than that. Do you know who would want to pull me out? Or who even could?"

"Not any angel of heaven could pull you from the pit," Castiel mused, "I believe only an archangel could do such an act. Though I don't think Raphael would do such a thing."

"I don't think so either," Sam laughed, "So… Dean?"

"Oh, yes, of course," Castiel nodded, pressing his fingers to Sam's forehead.

He was on a street corner, fully clothed thank God, and there was no Dean in sight. Just a quaint, apple pie neighborhood. A woman walked out of the house across the street. Dark hair and tanned skin. Lisa. Right.

Letting out a huge sigh, Sam jogged across the street.

"Lisa!" he called, "Hey! Lisa!"

She turned around, confused, but her eyes widened with shock at the sight of Sam.

"Wha-" she managed, "___Sam_?"

"Yeah," Sam laughed a bit, "I um, I'm back. Is Dean around?"

"He's at work," Lisa's voice was breathless, like she couldn't quite believe that Sam Winchester was standing right in front of her, "But he said… you were gone?"

"Oh, well, got pulled back," Sam hedged, "Listen, I really gotta talk to Dean, would it be okay if I just, hung around until he came back?"

"Oh, right, of course!" Lisa fluttered, "Just, um, wait inside. I gotta pick up Ben but Dean should be home in an hour or so, if you don't mind the wait."

"No, I don't mind," Sam said, walking through the door, "Thanks, you know. For taking care of him. I'm sure things were pretty messy."

"Yeah," Lisa said, "Just, make yourself comfortable. There's some beer in the fridge if you need it."

"Thanks," Sam said, "And I really mean it. Thanks for looking after my brother."

Lisa smiled, "Well now that you're back he's not going to need me anymore, is he?"

"I don't know," Sam shrugged.

* * *

The hour wait seemed forever. Sam had two beers, looked at all the family photos, took a mini-tour of the house, and was still bored. Instead he focuses on that handprint. The mark.

It had to be important. Having a handprint, having been marked by an angel. Dean had one from Castiel and they were close. Awkwardly close. Best friend kind of close.

Sam gave a small huff of laughter. Maybe he accidentally best-friended himself to an archangel.

That brought another conundrum. There were no archangels left. Michael and Lucifer were in the pit, fighting it out with Adam (Sam cried a bit hoping some angel would pull his little brother out). Gabriel was dead. Raphael wouldn't pull Sam out on pain of death.

Logically, there was no angel in existence who would pull him from the pit. By all means, they should have pulled out Adam. He was Michael's vessel. He was a good kid. Not Sam. Not Lucifer's vessel. Not the boy with the demon blood. If anything, he deserved to be in the pit for the rest of his life.

Dean burst through the door, eyes frantically searching around the house. He found Sam and punched him in the face.

"What the hell are you?" Dean shouted, "Demon? Ghost? WHAT?"

"It's me!" Sam ducked another blow, "Really! Bring on the silver and salt. It's me!"

Dean flicked out his favorite silver knife, and pressed it against Sam's arm. No burn or spark. He pulled out a flask of holy water and threw it on Sam's face. Salt next. Sam wiped the liquid off his face and gave a sigh.

"You done?"

"You're really back?" Dean barely whispered.

"I'm really back," Sam grinned.

Dean pulled him in for a hug. Holding on tightly, a silent promise to never let go ever again.

"Wait," Dean pulled back, wiping his face, "How? Did Cas…?"

"Wasn't him," Sam shook his head, "But it was an angel."

"How do you know?"

"I um… got a souvenir."

"You mean like this?" Dean rolled up his sleeve, exposing the red handprint.

"Kind of?" Sam dodged the question.

"Well show me!" Dean insisted, "Come on Sammy, where's your handprint?"

Fighting a blush, Sam shifted his jeans down just enough to show the handprint on his hip. Dean's eyes widened and he bent over with laughter.

"You not only got pulled out by an angel, but that angel felt you up?" Dean laughed, "And here I am thinking they don't have a sense of humor. So who did it?"

"Not sure," Sam pulled his pants back up, face flaming red, "The handprint is too small to be Cas's. And Cas said that only an archangel could pull me from the pit."

"That narrows the list," Dean whistles, "Raphael."

"Why would Raphael pull me out though? It doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe there's another archangel that we don't know about?"

"I don't think so," Sam shook his head.

"We don't have many options," Dean said, "It's not like we can line up all the angels in creation and have you point out the one that did it."

Sam absently ran his hand across the handprint, feeling the raised skin. It was a strange sensation and he wondered if Dean ever did that. He wondered if Castiel could feel it. Maybe his angel could feel it.

Lights flashed in his head and dozens of images appeared in his mind. College and aliens. Crocodiles and chainsaws. Mystery spot. Tuesday and ___Heat of the Moment_. TV Land. Pagan gods. Wingprints on the ground.

"Sam? Sam?"

Dean's voice felt like it was coming from underwater. Fuzzy, not quite there. Dim. Sam could only see honey hair and butterscotch eyes. Candy bar wrappers. Trickster. Archangel. Gabriel.

With a gasp Sam's eyes refocused. He was on his back, Dean worriedly looking over him. The mark on his hip burned and he could smell spun sugar.

"Gabriel," Sam whispered, "Gabriel did it. I can feel him."

"What?" Dean pulled him up, "All you did was fall over and completely pass out."

"It was Gabriel," Sam said again, "He pulled me out. I can… feel his grace in the handprint. Feel ___him_."

"But he's dead," Dean said, "We know that. Unless…"

"He fakes his death again?"

"And why would Gabriel want to pull you out?"

A new voice spoke, light and full of sugar, "You could always just ask him."

Sam turned around so fast his head was spinning. But standing there, arms crossed, smirk in place, was Gabriel. Sam's heart flew from his chest and landed in his throat. His blood was pumping hard through his body and the mark on his hip was singing. It was Gabriel with his golden glow and devil-may-care smile.

"Did you miss me?"


End file.
